Sunday, January 28, 2007

Saturday, January 27, 2007

I am trying to find blogs to read to help motivate me (and keep me company) on my writing journey. Ugh the kid just came in and so dissed me! He said "what are you doing writing a blog? Nothing interesting ever happens to you, what do you have to write about? Today I ate a balogna sandwich?" (first off, I don't eat bologna) I feed this person. I wash his clothes, and brush his hair. Why is it, I do that again? Now he is begging, he is so bored, he wants me to go play viva pinata, he wont go away. The husband is home, but perhaps he has fallen asleep. Ahh, Saturday night, it's just not what it used to be. I'm going to have to go play but first let me try and finish. There are so many blogs, I go through lists and read parts, but it is so hard to know what will really be helpful, and what will be predominately distracting. I guess there are small communities of writers (or would be writers) who post back and forth. The only place I go now and interact is allthingsanderson. Oh darn it, I feel guilty now and can't focus my thoughts, ugh I don't want to play that game, my bunnycomb will just get eaten again. Writing-Earlier today I finished up with the last notebook, so they are all done, and I was reading front part of writer's market, I hoped to get in more research before Naruto. I planned on getting more done. On the upside the boy does know how to trun bunnycombs pink.

Friday, January 26, 2007

I found the first half of American Idol Wednesday exhausting. It is so sad, when people really want something so desparately, it is their dream, and it just isn't going to happen. I wonder if my writing will be like that, like a gag reel, when I finally finish it, and show it to someone. I mean I don't think we can truly know, truly hear ourselves clearly. Yes in singing, and in writing (esp. with poetry) I can tell when it is really bad (screech, clang), but other times, I can't tell. It is me, my voice, the one I have always heard, it doesn't sound odd to me. I know I can't sing, because people have always told me so, though I do love to sing, and often enough my voice sounds perfectly fine to me. What if it is the same with my writing? What if I am tone deaf, and don't know it, foolishly going forward with a dream in my heart, till the one day when I am judged, and they say " Dawg, this just isn't for you man, no, sorry". Unless I am really unlucky and they scowl at me and look annoyed at my having wasted their time bothering and annoying them with such ridiculous aspirations when I clearly suck. What then? Well of course then I would feel stupid for having let myself dream the dream. And for spending my time with research and characters, and in make believe worlds, it would seem silly, dumb, crazy. But would I regret it...? I think I would regret the dream, because I would feel I had failed it, but I wouldn't regret the activity, the time spent, the books, the research, the characters, for at any rate they are informing me, and the stories would come anyway, and be part of me either way, so there is nothing to regret in that, it is who I am. And my security blanket would be, of course the great thing about writing is, as long as there is time (one is still alive) there is space to sustain hope, for one can always work on craft, and read a lot, and improve. I should plan on living to be 102, and start now, and get better over the years.

Anyway I couldn't imagine going round without a story in my head, I suppose it is like a song in ones heart, something to whistle in the dark, or hum when alone. Though all together more frustrating. (like a song in ones heart that you can't remember all the words to, but it keeps playing on and on just the chorus and the one or two lines you do know, entertaining, frustrating, and annoying you).

It does pull me away from other activities though, and at times from other people. But then part of that just is my nature, when we are on vacation or a day trip, I like sitting on the beach, or a bench reading a book, of literature, or how-to write, or research, that is fun for me. I like being in both worlds at the same time. As long as no one tries to talk to me when I am actually writing. I am thinking now about how I do, and how I don't connect with other people, which really has nothing to do with how I will feel if my writing never is any good, except I guess, if I would become a good writer, or any kind of published writer (good, bad, mediocre) it would sort of justify some of my personality traits, and ways of being.

Wednesday, January 24, 2007

so today is better, I am not doing cartwheels, and tap dancing, but everything is fine. I only have a few pages of old notebook to go through now (did two yesterday, depression thing helped, I didn't get side tracked reading anything unrelated to current project). I did exercise today, and read some writer's market. I enjoyed watching idol last night, watched a fair amount of President. It was cold in our house which was good, because instead of growling at Husband when he sat next to me on sofa (I had been rather mad about some stuff that occurred over the weekend), I found I really appreciated his company a.k.a body heat, and due to the close proximity I fell into old habits and was nice to him, forgeting that I had been upset.

I guess I will go now and try and finish those last few pages.

Oh, I wanted to say that I think the version of Jane Eyre on masterpiece theatre is a good one, I am looking forward to seeing the second half this Sunday. I did notice a change here or there, but over-all seemed to stick to book, and the change about the gypsy woman didn't bother me at all (I had wondered how it would be pulled off). Usually when I watch a movie adaption, I get very angry, it is never true to the book. I really like the Harry Potter series, and I do enjoy the movies, but the first time I see the movie I get all in a huff, and carry on about the changes, "that is not what happened!!" "ugh, why did they change that, no that is not better!". I am best off if I watch the movie first and then read the book, but I certainly couldn't wait in the case of Potter. I like most of the Austen adaptions, but I wish I could love one (Mansfield Park version does indeed make me angry). I didn't care that much for Wuthering Heights (the book), but at some point I should re-read it, I read things on the surface, and I was surprised to find out all I had missed (symbolism, etc.,). Plus, though I do not like to admit it, I kept getting my Catherines confused. I should watch the movie first, refresh my mind, know where I am going, and then go into it again. But none of that is for now, now I need to stay focused on current project. Memoirs of a Geisha is current novel allotment.

Tuesday, January 23, 2007

Wow, I am in such a bad mood. I am so growly it would be funny, except I can't seem to shake it. It is heavy, and it is all around and in me, through me. I do something, I seem focused, fine, and I keep expecting my mood to lift, to just move on, and I am surprised that it is still there, when I stand up to change activites it moves with me. Maybe if I exercise, or work on my writing in some concrete way, maybe then I will feel right again? I have seen many birds today, and the snow, it meandered, moving so lightly from sky to ground, I thought perhaps it wouldn't ever get there. But still my mood is bad. Only settleing to nothingness when I am not upset. Time moves so quickly for me, and I move so slowly in it. But it is January, and then comes February, they aren't good months, in them I always turn grey, I become like the cold hard ground, nothing inside seems to stir. I worry that I will always be nothing, and worse that I will never try to be anything. Like a dried leaf, just setting in the underbrush, I look up at the sky, I watch the birds, see the trees, I just set here, and crumble in the wind, and wonder what it would be like to be something else. But I don't move, I don't stir, I don't change.

Maybe I should work on the painting instead, it would be so nice to see color, rich saturated color, gliding across a canvas, seeping into it, creating things, blending, adding intensity, showing light. Light isn't hitting anything outside my window, one side illuminated the other dark, showing contrast, and color, and form. No, that is not out there, or in here today. All is dull. Only I don't care to paint, I don't care about the painting, have any ideas for it, I vaguely care that I don't care, but that is all, I wonder if I would change once I started, if the movements would spark something inside, and my eyes would see it, and brush would chase after what they wished to create, or if I would just muddle about making mud from color.

It would be horrible to never try, to go on like this forever. Where has desire gone? Why am I not moved? Why don't I stir? Does nothing rise within me? All is upon the ground. I can not wait till spring, that is too far away, for I do not wish to waste time. I do not know how much of it, will ever be mine, how much I will have to fill, and then not get anymore. What catalyst can I create, to shake that part that rises, once again awake?

I have to work on the writing, I know that is it. The painting does not upset me, whether I do or don't, I know I can, and when I feel it, I know I will. But I am very disappointed about the writing, I have lost my way, I have forgottent the path, and I sit here in the underbrush confused, not even making myself look for it, just sitting being aware that I am not moving, and remembering that I had thought that I was going somewhere. It is just one little story, and I must finish it, or else I will always feel I have failed. One little story.

Friday, January 19, 2007

dreams. Isn't it boring to listen to other people prattle on about the dream they had last night? ok, so here I go.. not last nights, I'm still not sleeping well, but my favorite and worst. none are current. I found the one when going through old notebooks looking for pieces of the story I am working (or not so much working on) and the one reminded me of the others

Actually the absolute worst dream I ever had I wont tell, because there is no way I will type those words, and also I am superstitious about it. It does though, still, (what was it fall of 1999) haunt me, I try to forget it. I didn't see anything bad, I was told something horrible in it, from an angel riding a bicycle, no wings, just a bike (if you ever see her in your dreams, run like hell, with your fingers in your ears).

there was also the dream were I was possessed. Horrible at time, and for awhile afterward, but kind of funny to me now, I wont go into it (this is the oldest dream on this list). I didn't do anything in it, but see myself in mirror as not self, and walk around, all slow old movie style creepy. (moving like a floaty, creepy, version of someone walking on the moon)

and there was the dream where some sort of cord, silver white, whatever, was attached to me around the ankle or legs, and it kept trying to toss me out into the universe, and I kept trying to get back down to the ground. Like swimming through the air, trying to reach land. (if I liked roller coasters and the like, maybe it would have been fun, but I don't). No being tossed about the universe for me, thank you very much.

The best dream I ever had, the jellyfish dream. I was a jellyfish, I know it doesn't sound great, but it was, it was like flying (which by the way I don't do in dreams), all weightless and gliding, and sliding through the water, and spinning a bit, it just was so much fun. But being me (even me the jellyfish) at some point I started worrying about stuff, what if a shark eats me, what if, blah blah blah, so then I was transformed into a reed or something (I was attached to something), some sort of plant life in the sea, and I was all flexible, and swayed this way and that way with the water, it was great, but still I worried, what if this, and what if that, surely something will eat me, and then I became a dolphin, and swam through the water, and broke the surface, jumping, it was just the most fantastic dream. The feeling, in the water, even with the fears coming to my mind, still I felt so free, and giddy. At some point can't remember why, I was me again, in a house at the beach, I looked out the slidding glass window, I wanted to go outside, but it was dark, pure darkness (I am afraid of the dark), so I didn't, I stayed where I was, and then I heard the sounds of children, laughing playing, somewhere just outside the door, in some water, and I walked out, and as I did my eyes adjusted and I could see, and by the time I got to the kids, it was light out, and we all played in a shallow little tide pool. When I woke up, I thought about how great it was that everytime I was afraid, I was shown it was ok. but still if I ever get to be a jellyfish again, I really hope I can just go along and enjoy it, and not worry. (I mean really I don't think sharks eat jelly fish. Does anything?)

the next two dreams, I will call important dreams, which sounds odd but to me they were.I had this dream where I was being chased (I used to always get chased in dreams, spent my nights running. never made me any thinner), this version, involved dogs and wolves, chasing me, ran to the house, I hid inside, they were howling outside the doors, scratching at them, I was so scared, in basement, running about from room to room, where should I hide, where would be safest, ran upstairs, closing doors behind me, a weird looking woman appeared, she seemed part animal, but also somehow part of me, all of a sudden, she went over to the window, flung it open and jumped out, from this side of the house it was a two story drop, she landed safely and looked back up at me, and I heard her say or rather felt her think, "we can do this, you and me, this is something we can do, this is a power we have". And then she walked away, disappeared. I watched for a moment in shock, then I heard the scratching again, they were still coming, coming to get me, I was terrified, where could I hide?, I could hear the dogs getting in, they were in the house, I was running from room to room, looking for a safe place, closing doors behind me, finally they were at the last door, and I was just standing there in the center of the room, and the door was opening, and I was so scared, and I didn't know what to do, and then a massive doberman broke into the room, running, charging at me, lunging.. it was all so fast, I didn't know what to do, a blur, and then, my finger up to my face, tucking the tip of a furry ear into my mouth, the last bit of the dog. I woke up and felt so sick to my stomach, I really thought I was going to throw up. Ugh, I ate the dog, how could I do that? that is so disgusting. I felt so gross. I don't think it was till a day later, that I realized what had fully happened, I had eaten the dog! It had come charging at me, I felt powerless, and didn't know what to do, and instead of it getting me, I had devoured it, swallowed it whole. I had eaten the dog!! I had eaten the dog!! Never before had I won. It didn't get me, it wasn't more powerful than I was. Suddenly I was proud of it, I ate the dog. It really was an important dream for me, I don't have running dreams anymore, I am not chased. This was years ago, and after it, I realized I wasn't powerless, no I don't run after my aggressors with a fork, but I never will spend night after night running. It hasn't even come up in years, but whenever, after that dream, I would get into a bad dream jag, I would be able to tell myself to look for a door or a window, and when I would go through it I would be somwhere else, somewhere "safe", and after I was able to do that, any sort of variation on those sorts of dreams stopped. If they ever start again, I will have to work my way back up to it, but the thing is now I know that I can, which I suppose is why they don't happen. In my actual life I do get scared, and run from things, even working on, trying to write my book, and lately I have been thinking, that I should just stand still, and let it happen, feel the horrible feelings, and terror, and stop getting up from my computer and walking away and attempting to hide when I am scared. I should force myself to stand my ground, stay here, let it charge me, and eat the dog. Yes, it will be awful and I will feel sick, but once I have eaten the dog, I will know I am greater than it, that I do have power, and just like how I can now dream stronger, maybe I would be able to become stronger in other ways. Stop being such a wimp, and just eat the dog!

The other dream, the healing dream. (Real life background-My grandparents had been dead about 2 years, my Brother had bought their house.) In the dream I was walking on their property (I love that land), and I went over to the woods, and all the trees were chopped down, just stumps, and I knew it was someone else's land now, someone had bought it, it wasn't mine, not my home anymore, and it would never be, it was gone, it was like losing my grandparents again, losing a part of them that was left, that I could hold on to, and walk through, their home, their land, no longer would I be able to touch it, and I started to cry. I decided to walk through the woods one last time, to say goodbye, and when I passed one of the tree stumps, it seemed to move, a carving on it, was alive, it looked like a snake on a staff (my grandfather was a doctor), and it swayed and sort of hissed at me a bit (but not menacingly, just to draw my attention to it, so I would see it), and a voice said "this means healing, this will be healing" (there are more details I am sure I am leaving out now, it is written down in some notebook in my home, but these are the parts I easily remember). I felt, this is so sad and horrible but it is going to be ok, I am being told it is going to be ok. Then I woke up. 1pm that day my Brother calls me, he is hedging a bit, he wants to tell me something but is afraid to, he just got promoted and they are moving to another state, they are selling our grandparents house. And it was horrible, and I didn't want them to move, I wanted that house to be in our family forever ( I couldn't and can't afford to buy it), but I had just had that dream, which had made such an impression on me I had written it down when I woke up. So I kept repeating to myself "this will be hard, but this means healing" "this will be healing", this is sad, you are sad, but you will be ok. And it still does make me sad, but I do think I needed to let go, and move on, and the dream has helped me, because it came to tell me first, it came first to help me. It makes me feel less alone, less apart from them, that I would be given such a warning, and a little pat from the universe. Yes, when my Brother bought the house, he did say he would not be living there forever, that at some point he would get promoted and move. But I only had that dream once, I never had any dream about them moving before that night, just that one dream, just the night before he called to tell me, just exactly at the point when I needed it most. And it might seem silly to hold onto a dream so, to take strength and help from it, but if it helps, it helps, and I needed to receive that message, to hear that idea, that even though it was going to be hard, and painful, that this was to be healing for me, something that needed to happen (something that I needed to have happen), another way of saying goodbye, so there would be more space inside me for my own life to unfold. (like my Pop sending out a final prescription to me, this medicine is going to taste real bad, and you will feel sicker for awhile, but taking it, is your best chance for getting better, you will get better). So you can say just my subconsious picking up on clues pulling together and feeding it back to me, if you want, I don't mind, it doesn't matter why or how I had it, I am just grateful that I had the dream, I could not imagine going through it without having had that dream. If it was just me telling me, I was going to be ok, well I am glad somewhere I knew that, and told myself so.

so I hope I sleep tonight, and I hope I dream, it would be great to be a jellyfish again (they fascinate me, I love watching them at aquariums, the way the light goes through them, the way they float and glide). And tomorrow I hope I wake up and don't sense any dogs howling or scratching at the doors, I hope I can just go about my work with positive inspiration, but if they do come, I hope I will have the courage to eat the dog. That is what I will tell myself from now on when I get scared of words on a page, or the lack of words on a page, "Eat the dog!". (ya big sissy, just eat the dog already), then maybe the dogs wont keep coming, or maybe they will get smaller, over time, till they are like a tea cup pom.

Thursday, January 18, 2007

I'm watching my son play viva pinata right now (or rather trying to get credit for doing it, without having to do too much of it). I have my own garden on it, but I don't do well with the whole death aspect of the game. I've had three bunnycombs (bunny pinatas) get killed already (they are my favorite ones). To protect some, you have to whack the heck (life) out of others with a shovel. It reminds me of Harvest Moon, I couldn't believe it when my son's cow died on that game, whenever I do play it, I stock up on medicine, because I do not take it well even when I have to deal with death virtually. I guess these games are trying to give a circle of life type of experience, still I wish I could play them without getting so upset (actually I wish I could play them without my favorite characters getting eaten or getting sick and dying) (Do I really need a dose of reality with my animated pinata garden?) ( I think not). The pinata animals don't all get along either, they fight sometimes, and kill each other. When I play, my son screams all sorts of directions at me, rattling my nerves, because my reaction times are too slow, and I keep forgetting which button does what. (he isn't falling for it, knows I am typing, not watching him play, he is talking a lot, and turning back to look at me, making sure I look at everything he is trying to show me, which is everything).

I am not sleeping well this week. I hate insomnia. I think I am watching the news too much. (my husband said," just because you like to look at a gay man in his suit is no reason for you to be watching so much news, you never watched so much before, it isn't good for you."). Yeah well, last night I taped the man in his suit and watched Medium, but that never has any good bedtime stories in it either. I admit, all this stuff is mixing together in my mind, the pillow angel (how sad for her parents), the boys just found (Shawn and Ben. It is such a miracle they are back, but the whole thing is horrifying), and the death of my 14 yr old cousin. I look at my son sleeping at night (I am checking on him more and more again. I had gotten better this past year, but now...I feel again that I can not be sure, sure that he is ok. ) and he reminds me of my cousin, I can see her face in his (and I think, my god what if I went to wake him up in the morning, and I couldn't, what if that was it, he was gone, no more time?), now I have always had this fear, ever since he was born (SIDS), but as he got older, I knew, my fear was no longer based in reality, but now, that is what happened to my cousin, not SIDS of course, her heart just stopped beating, yes she did have medical problems, which he does not, but still we never thought this would happen (she had surgery in the summer, she was getting better, we thought she was going to be ok. better than ok). That this is the way that life is, the way life can be, makes me nervous. I don't want to ever have to say to myself, if only I had done _________, if I just had not looked away for that second, etc., of course one way or another to some degree, every life has these, I can't really avoid them, but I want them to be smaller things, things that still have time left in them. I have always considered myself to be a paranoid, and over protective parent, and I have worked toward loosening up a bit, but all this stuff lately isn't helping, right now I don't feel paranoid at all, I feel justifiably vigilant. (ok, and I little bit crazy, but not the kind of crazy that can be helped).

When my grandparents died, in their 80's, I felt like if I could know, really know that they were/are ok, then I would be too. Like if you know for sure that some sort of heaven is real, and they are there, then it is ok that they have died (not happy about it, but I can accept it, and be ok with life). But with my cousin, just 14, I realize that even if I did know 100% for sure, that she was/is in heaven, and happy, and healthy, well it still wouldn't be ok with me, that she is gone, it is too soon, I'm not ready, none of us are. I can't reassure myself like with my grandparents. My nana even said, that if it was nothing (when you died) that was ok with her, she had a full life, and she was tired, and nothing sounded very peaceful to her. But 14 that is just a beginning...

so yeah, I'm not too peppy. And when I am not sleeping well I am more suseptible (ugh, I need spell check!) to getting depressed, with, and about, and from, things that normally, I'm ok with. I was looking at my son's face yesterday (I had watched Oprah, and had looked at Carly Simon's children noticing, how much her son looked like his dad, Oprah commented on it. The daughter she was a blend, not particularly resembling either), and I was wondering who he would turn out to look more like, so I said it, "I wonder when you grow up, if you will look more like me or more like your father?" and he said "Well I sure hope I end up looking more like him". I nodded my head, figuring it was a masculine identification response (he would want to look like the male, being male), but then he went on to say "I mean can you imagine that nose on my face? ugh!". I am sensitive about my looks because I am not what is considered pretty, but I mean for the most part it doesn't really matter, (I mean yeah, I'm not pretty, but so what? I forget about it all the time, as long as no one says anything to me about it, and no one is mean enough to show me any pictures of myself, then I am just fine, I 've got this internal airbrushing filter in my eyes/brain when I look in the mirror, it is very helpful. And there are much more important things in life, to worry about, and to enjoy, to spend ones time on) but it still hurts if your child is going to be like "ugh yuck, I don't want to look like you". And I didn't think I was asking him if he wanted to look like me ( I don't think I would have walked right into that question), I was thinking over alls not particulars, even in his over-all face shape, eyes, and lips, I can't tell who he favors, he is all blends, and his own I suppose, my husband's full lashes, but with the dark color of mine, his Dad's hair texture, but the color dark like mine, his eyes the shape and color lifed from and changed from ours, mixed together, something entirely new.

so here's hoping no one dies on anything I watch tonight (Grey's could be tricky), and that no one wanders up to insult me.

My son is so many levels ahead of me in this game, the pinata one, I'm like on 10 and he is on 31, because I play with fear, and stop playing when things go badly, but he takes his loses head on, (he was upset when his cow died. He cried for a day or two when his favorite character on Animal Crossing left town), and then he moves on, and learns new strategies to implement, he keeps making adjustments and learning, and doesn't take the loses personally, doesn't give up, hopes things will work out better in the future, and tries to make it so, his garden is so much bigger than mine and has so many more creatures in it, and he does reach his goals (the ones that are under his control. that darn character still hasn't moved back to his town a year later), and then he sets out new ones, and he stays focused on things, without getting stuck on them, he still enjoys other aspects of the game, while keeping his goal in mind, noticing when opportunites present themselves, or can be created. I wonder if he will aproach (ugh doesn't look right, approach?) life that way? I wonder if I will ever be able to even approach the game that way?

Monday, January 15, 2007

can a draft be published, or do you have to re-write it, and after going to preview, can you go back and edit stuff in the posting section, without publishing or saving to draft? I imagine there is a page that tells these things.

Saturday, January 13, 2007

I hate the loop, type info in, says it can't find me, go into my email, hit the activate the google account thing, it says you already did (and I'm like, I know!). Round and round, till finally it lets me get here. Maybe it will remember me for awhile again.Which leaves me out of time.

Wednesday, January 10, 2007

3,135 words, which would be very good for me, if it had been on the story I am currently working on. The alarm told me it was time to get up, but it seemed impossible that it could already be morning. Next thing I know, my contacts are in and I am brushing my teeth, and the whole time, this story idea is just churning away in my head, since it wouldn't shut-up I got my notebook out and wrote it down. I was almost late getting my son to school, because everytime I tried to get up, I would think of something else, and go back and write it down. It was odd, in that it was so complete. Usually my ideas are fuzzy, then after awhile I know this, then I know that, over months, and then a line or two will come to me. I mean if memory serves, it usually is almost a year till I have the basic outline set in my head, till I know the beginning, the middle, and the end. Then the parts that fill in all the spaces come (or don't) (sometimes I don't know the transitions even generally). This however had a beginning, middle, and end, just like that, no percolating. Doesn't mean it is better than the others, but I guess it doesn't have to mean that it is worse.

I typed it up today, not because I am excited about it, but because my handwriting is awful, and I want to know what I wrote, in case at some later date, there is something in it I can use (in my notebooks I often come across pages of stuff I can't read, could be great stuff, could really suck, I have no idea). This story is a love story (I don't write love stories per se) and it takes place in Africa. A place I have never been and know next to nothing about. (I blame this story idea, on Anderson Cooper and Oprah) ( I must be more careful about what I watch before I go to bed) (there is a rape in it, aids, death, things I don't like to know exist, let alone would want to emerse myself in a world of, day in and day out, to write about). Of course the main character (and all the surrounding characters) are African, because I know so much about being African. (not!!). And of course the main character is male.

This problem seems to be a theme- Echo- takes place in Japan, with main character Japanese man. Fresh Oranges- starts in Austria, main character Jewish man. And today's idea- Love among the bones, or, field of bones (both titles probably already taken, no matter)- takes place in Africa with main character male. I am not a man ( and can't claim to know that much about them), and I know nothing about Japan, or Austria, or Africa. I have done plenty of reading this past year on Japan, and I do have a stockpile of books about Austria, and being Jewish etc. I'm really not in the mood to start collecting books on Africa, besides if I can finish these other two stories, good or bad, within the next two years, it will be amazing. I do have one story idea with a woman as the lead character and it does take place in the northeastern part of the U.S (well at least until she moves to the southwest). It would be so much easier if the stories that came would be about women in the U.S, in my state, heck in my neighborhood. But the stories that come aren't like that. If I felt like I was making them up, composing them, then I could easily make these decisions, tailor it to what I know about. But it feels more like I am uncovering them, some things come, and are just known, other things I guess at and ask questions till something resonates, and says- that is it, and when I look at the piece later, it seems as though it was always that way, had always been.

Someone dies in each of my stories. I hate death, I struggle with it, I don't understand it. I knew the basic plots to Echo and Fresh Oranges before three people that I loved died. It is harder to fully write these stories out now, as I read over parts that I have written, it is more real now, more painful. But I guess that is why now, I truly do need to completely write them out. If I sat down and tried to make up a story, compose it from my imagination, decide what happened, no one would die in it. No one. I am starting to see what the stories have in common, and the differences. The theme is pretty much the same in all of them, it must be something I need to have told to myself, need to learn. That is also what makes them more difficult to write. Here are my two favorite bits, from what I did work on today (I am disappointed that I got nothing done on Echo). This part of the earth knows us, through the soles of our feet through to our souls. The path knows why my brother and I walk apart. (and then near the end of the story) "I will not live this life. I will not bury child after child afer child, my family will not be a field of bones" (it sounds weird here, standing alone, but within the context of the rest of the story idea, it sounded right to me)

I am noticing there is certain way I write. I don't mean my grammar, I mean the way I say things. I don't try to do it, I am just writing, he feels this, and she says this, and then this happens, and suddenly I am talking about the dirt path he walks on everyday with his brother, and how their footsteps are no longer side by side...(and I go on a bit with that idea, and then write, about the path, it) knows us from the soles of our feet through to our souls. And I like the sentence, I like the sound of it, I like its meaning. I like things like that, but I worry, that it isn't palatable to other people. I worry that I am overly sentimental, and corny, and that I..I don't know the word. Like Echo for example, I consider it the song of my soul, that story is the song of my soul. I like saying that (though the only person I say that to is me) (this blog doesn't really count, I'm fairly certain that I am still just talking to me), that is how I see it, feel it, know it. I realize, I do like pretty ideas. I worry that what is beautiful to me, will be seen as wispy, and saccharine to others. Well I guess there is no point in worrying about it, it doesn't change anything, and I am who I am. And the stories are what they are, and I need to write them as they are, and then maybe after they are done, I could write something else, that would appeal to people. Oh, part of me just said, no, I will write the way I feel, the way the stories are revealed, craft I do intend to improve, but sentimental, eh I wont fix it, that will stay. Oh, well, I guess I shouldn't think of being a published writer as my goal, just think of writing out these stories the best I can. And if I don't like them, if they don't ring true to me, then they are to be changed.

Tuesday, January 9, 2007

I haven't heard or felt it for a week or two. It had been happening so regularly recently that I had come to expect it. And now, silence. It is still pretty, the rolling hills, the trees, the sky, all the colors, but I'm not hearing or feeling them. When it happens, it is like hearing the hills sing (the sky, the trees), but I don't really hear words, tones maybe, maybe I just feel it, like how a deaf person hears. I can't explain it, but when it happens, tears always come to my eyes, it is amazement, awe.

It might be a tumor, a seizure, or a bit of crazy, I suppose, but I like it.

It was over two and half years ago when I first remember it happening, we were on a trip in CA, and my son and I were at the natural history museum in San Deigo. I was looking at botanical paintings, Valentien (or something that sounds like valentine) was the name of the painter. Water colors I think. An exhibition of his work. Like many painters the admiration for is work, came after his death. I loved them. It was like they weren't a painting of a type of plant, but like he was painting part of the soul of this plant on paper, like he had somehow caught the essence of what it meant to be this plant. I don't know maybe I could see them again tomorrow and not feel anything, and think it odd that I ever did, but on that day, they sang to me. The colors, the curves, the flowing on the page, it danced and hummed, and I just wanted to stand there and listen to it forever. And my Son kept poking me, and complaining, and grabbing my arm and trying to pull me away, as I walked slowly from flower to flower trying to take it all in. Trying to hear them singing. He would practically walk into the walls, and lean against them, and I was trying to make him behave and be quiet, so I could hear and feel, and be this somewhere other place I had never been before. A person who worked there came over to me to express his worry that my son might harm the work. I wouldn't have let him do that. I wished they would both just let me be, just give me this, I thought, just a few more moments. Each time I was dragged away, the spell would break, and I was worried it would be lost forever. but then I would look at the painting, and the color on the page was like a note, being played, and as my eye swept from this dot of color to that, and this line of color to that, it was one note to the next, and I would hear/feel it again. I was so sad when finally I had to give up, and surrender to my son, and go on to the other exhibits. (I'm sure the gentleman who worked there was very very happy to see us go).

I never expected it to happen again, and mostly it didn't. Once or twice last year (meaning school year 05-06) I would be driving along and suddenly look over and be in awe. That year it happend mostly at twilight. The sky and the hills, it was like a tone, or sound, it was amazing the way it felt, so beautiful and like I hadn't really seen it before. I thought that I had, who hasn't looked at the sky of a setting sun, and thought it beautiful, and felt a kinship with the natural world and I would have used the word awe then at times to discribe it, but this was more. This fall it started happening regularly (without the twilight, I'm harldy ever out during twilight this year). And so then I wondered if I could make it happen. Sometimes when just driving along feeling nothing, I can focus on it, and lean into feeling it. Mostly be looking at colors or an area, and seeing the colors within it, and the colors next to it, and the colors are like notes, and I feel them moving against and with each other. And then it sort of takes off and plays itself. But it is the most powerful when I am not thinking about it at all, and am disgruntled and distracted, even mad about some stupid little thing, and then suddenly I see all this light and intense color, it is wham, I am struck, and when that happens it isn't a small section, it is all of it. Like this one day, after it had rained, and I was in the car, carrying on to myself, mad about something, and then suddenly I saw the light reflected off the white gold corn fields, the telephone wires reflecting a silver light on top, like spider webbing, the silver white lines in the road ahead of me (from the water), and then a green field ahead, and the water droplets, scattered through out the grass, reflecting back up to the sky, glittering as I drive by. And then I can't believe I didn't notice it before, didn't see or hear all this, right outside my car window.

The warmth that has persisted this season has made the colors more intense. Usually by now, the world has turned grey. This year the trees are bare, much of the fields ochre, or gold burned white by cold and sun, and then I will see a patch of intense green among the other colors, and the color modulations, will dance, and vibrate, and sing. I am driving, either from having dropped my son off at school, or going to pick him up. And when it happens, it is just so wonderful. I don't hear much but him when he is in the car (that is a kind of wonderful too, a different wonderful). And I usually don't hear/feel it when the radio is on, but sometimes I do or start to, and then turn it off. I still daydream a lot while driving, but not as much as I used to, and I try to pay more attention, when my surrounding are vibrant to see if I will feel anything.

Several weeks back, I was out with my husband running errands, groceries, etc. and I kept noticing the water. Ducks on it, a pond here, a lake, river, as we drove around, and it was like I hadn't seen it before, the weight of it, the ripples on it, it seemed different. Thicker, had more presence. I didn't hear or feel anything, it was just weird, the intensity of the visual. My Husband was listening to talk radio and going on and on about politics, and I wanted to say "hush, I'm seeing, really seeing the water and the ducks, for the first time, and I don't want to miss any of it, any detail". But of course I didn't say that, and after awhile there was no water out the window, so I turned back and gave him my full attention. Wondering if it was just the cold, and water always looks different in the winter, and I had just never noticed it before, or if it was some oddity in me, and it wouldn't be the same the next time I saw it.

Sometimes when I am out, things seem different, the barns, and trees, seem to mean something (no, not like the mashed potato mound in close encounters. it's just), I feel them differently, like I am not looking out a window, but like they are pictures in a painting, like they were thought out and placed exactly there for a certain effect. The way the tree bends and curves, the way the light hits it, the colors, the harmonies, the contrasts. And the little out building around them, seem symbolic. If there are childrens' toys in the yard, or birds flying overhead or,....it is hard to explain. It is like it is all too perfect, too beautiful, seems set up. And I feel the little buildings, the way one thing sits next to another, up close or apart, echoing, or not, groups of buildings or trees, a life in them, I hadn't seen before. Again, they humm and sing. Then the next day, when I am out, they are just buidlings again, not meaning or feeling, just there.

I have been loving all the burgundies, and reds, the rich browns, against the golds, and greens, this fall. The blue sky. I love the mist ( I don't think i have heard or felt it though, the mist, I would like to, but I don't). I saw a tree in our yard it was pale grey brown, the one side was hit by pink light, the other side, pale almost white blue, and as the tree branches, turned, the colors danced. Of course, I have always seen colors, this has always been, and yet that day to me it was somehow different. But now, it is merely pretty out. The way nature has always been beautiful and pretty, but without the extra whatever it is/was. I miss it. What if that is/was it, no more? I asked my Husband if he hears it/feels it, in case everyone does, and I just hadn't discussed it with anyone before. First he seemed confused, about what I meant, then said no he doesn't hear it, and that it is probably because he works all the time, as most people do, and because I am a stay at home mom, with a school age child, that is probably why I have time, to hear these things. I felt like he had taken a shot at me, and turned an occurance that I liked into a judgement against me. I certainly do not spend my days sitting down, looking out a window, or sitting out in the yard pondering its beauty. But I can't deny having the time to look out the window, while I am driving in silence/peace, and having my own thoughts, and not being incredibly stressed out (I can still manage to be surprisingly stressed though), really helps. It is true it creates a space were it can occur.

I wonder if there is a God. I certainly hope there is. I wonder if God hears all of us, and the animals, and plants, etc., as notes, and vibrations, if the earth is like a song, the universe can hear, and is played on and through it. And I wonder if sometimes I can just hear the faintest bit of the smallest part of it, and after I wonder that I immediately wonder if perhaps I am developing a brain tumor, or if this is some kind of seizure, or if I am going a bit crazy. Maybe my Husband is right, I have more time now, and I am more attuned, and maybe the increase in my focus on writing, makes me pay more attention to what I am seeing, and what it really looks like, feels like. And that the information I learned years and years ago when I went to art school, has just finally sunk in, and I can see pictures forming themselves infront of me, out in nature, where before it was all just separate pieces, unruly, unrelated, this and that.

I don't know. I just hope I hear/feel it again.

And I wonder if it is odd/ an unusual occurance, when I do get to hear it. Or if most people do, and that they just take it for granted that everyone else does, and so it isn't really discussed, and thus part of me is just half waking up now, to what has always been, and I have to hope that it doesn't fall back asleep.

but not actually going to do it. I really just go on and on. I'm not even talking content. I'm referring to my inability to break things up into separate sentences, rather than the run on forever kind. Apparently my words and ideas, like to huddle together, and not have to stand out there on their own. And the sentences are the same way, none of them want to risk jumping down the page to begin another paragraph. I wonder how I can convince them it really isn't a free fall (into nothingness). And, but and, and, shouldn't be the beginnings of things, I know. And I misuse and abuse the comma horribly. Oh well, I have to go con myself into doing the dishes.

I don't wish to relive it, I did end up getting my writing back, it took me two hours of dangerously dipping in and out of having a nervous breakdown, but I did get it back. Somehow, I had replaced me on my computer with my Husband, his computer name, and files, and bookmarks. I was trying to get my itunes off his computer onto mine (he said I must, plus you can only have one itunes library so, I might as well have it on my computer). Finally I decided to just quit, and as I did I noticed the log out feature, and I realized I could log out as him, and then there I was, a picture of me, and my name, I started hyper ventilating I was so nervous, I clicked on it, and then I saw my agave screen, and then I saw the nissus writer express icon, still hyperventilating, heart beating so hard, will it be there? Will my writing be there? and then...it was. And I broke into tears (oh I had been crying off and on, the whole time, had to leave the room twice, but now I did it because I was relieved and happy). At which point my husband started laughing "it's gonna be ok" he patted my shoulder. He told me later, he was so glad the writing was still there, he was getting worried about me (mentally). We decided that I must burn my files to disk, tried, discovered I have no idea how to do this. I did make sure I printed a copy of everything. I figured out, somehow my Husband was on my computer as another account. I still couldn't access my itunes library from his computer and put it in mine, even though both itunes libraries were now on my computer. I ended up downloading itunes version 7 and using my ipod to transfer the songs, from my computer to my computer (curse the evil firwire, helped me not). I was so happy as I purged all my husband's info from my computer, that's right I am the administator, you are denied access, you are deleted, be gone. Ahh, just me and my files again. (I hope to never touch another fire wire cable again)

I tend to have troubles with my technology, my first ipod had this habit, of just deleting all the songs on it, I would go to use it and it would just be blank, (and I would spiral into this really bad place, as I went back on itunes, because all the software on it was wiped out, I had to restore it and go through all this junk to get it working again, and I could never remember how to do it, so it took hours, and then a month, or a week or a day later- all gone. At first the people at the apple store thought it was me, something I was doing (kept telling me this, and that, and don't do that yada yada, I said I wasn't doing that. I could tell they didn't believe me). Finally I freaked out on the man on the phone, he said bring it in (hung up then I am sure he went over to share story with co-workers of crazy lady on phone). Rather condescending when I came in ( I was very meek, embarrassed by my behavior on phone), he acted like this is all you gotta do, and hooked it up- and nada. I was never so happy to have it not working right. He gave me a new one, no problems with it at all. Except the time I left it in a hotel safety thing, (you know the safe in the room), and realized it hours later, we were still in Florida but at a different place in Disney. When I realized it, I went to get my husband and son, at pool. He says when he saw my face and the look in my eyes, he thought someone had died. I mean really he thought my Mom had called me to tell me someone had died. Several bad hours followed, we went back to other hotel, but they changed the locks, and housekeeping could possibly have found it, but they were probably gone for the day. I was freaking out and panicking, my husband has pictures of it, he thought it was funny (it was so annoying "wow you should see yourself, you look awful" click click of camera. I got it back that day, but I was shaken (we get basically no radio reception where we live, and my ipod is necessary for things like, exercising, cleaning, gardening, paintng walls, getting up and ready in the morning, and for writing- backgorund noise that helps quell terror). (actually I had written squel- a personal hybrid of quell, and squelch I suppose. I don't mind so much that I don't know things, but that I wont know them drives me nuts. I'll do it again tomorrow, I wont remember what I find out today.)

Speaking of shaken I felt sick and shaken for hours after I got my writing back. I was furious with myself for risking my writing over those songs. I would have smashed my ipod to pieces if that had been the price to get those words back. I had worked on my writing all last week, I haven't worked on it at all yet this week (but I got my darn itunes all squared away).

I feel weird about how much it means to me ( I mean regardless of the quality of writing, it is time, and effort, and I struggle with parts, and parts just make me sad now, and I don't want to have to think them up again) (even though well I know in the rewrites I will have to- re-imagine, relive), but even so, I seem to lack perspective, I mean my Mom put a dog down this weekend, and my BF had a misscarriage, and I spent yesterday printing out the memorial trubutes to my 14 yr old cousin who died in Dec., and still I am able to have a nervous breakdown over some lost words.

I have to get back to writing tomorrow, I feel exhausted when I think of it, so I will have to come up with some way to sneak up on it. I will lie to myself and say I am only doing this one thing, this small part, typing up something I already wrote in my notebook, or going through the pages I printed out Friday and placing them with the parts of the story they go with (cut and paste) and I know once I am there, in it, I will keep going, I just have to con myself so I can get myself there in the first place. Pathtetic I know. I lie to myself about other things as well, like the dishes. "You only have to wash these plates" or "You only have to empty the dishwasher, you can fill it tomorrow" and thus I go over to the sink and start, and keep going till I am done, and get mad if someone interrupts me, because then I will have to start process of conning myself into starting all over again.

Sunday, January 7, 2007

Going through my itunes marking off the ones I have already burned so I know which ones I still need to burn to disc. I have to repeat them in strings so I can remember them, (thank God I am easily entertained for my life is not very exciting), the way they go together is amusing me. Fever,Beautifu, I wanna be your Lover, It Seems Like You're Ready, Step in the Name of Love, Ignition, step in the name of love, you can't change that, come and get your love. Take a message, broken arrow, I want to be your man, wishing on a star, looking good, feeling gorgeous, by your side, kiss the girl, ordinary miracle, waiting for you, freak me (wait I don't want to admit I have that one!), can't get enough of you baby, quiet storm, informer, say you'll be there, as, love is the senventh wave, heaven must be missing an angel, still in love, I can't get next to you, sexbomb, you're makin' me high. Love's taken over, Dip it low, I can't seem to make you mine, Lorelei, clocks, yellow, ffun, accidentally in love, 100% pure love, I'll tumble 4 ya, if you're not the one, do it for love, goodbye girl, bang bang. Lose my breath, white flag, lullaby, a little bit more, sexy eyes, whatcha see is wacha get, reach up for the sunrise, sunday morning, free your mind, praise you, the rockafeller skank, secret heart, take a picture. early in the morning, love is alive, mmbob, fly, you sexy thing, spooky, power of two, somewhere over the rainbow, I'll be near you, lets get married, fabulous, doesn't really matter, everbody here wants you, beautiful soul, you, irresistible, are you gonna be my girl, golden, too cool to fall in love, save room, baby it's you. etc. Well ok now I have to go back and burn the rest of the songs- like Banana Pancakes, upside down, blame it on the boogie. and. What if I loved you, clarity, time for me to fly, someday we'll know, anything's possible, I see the moon. etc.

I could mention Friday night, it involves Two computers, a firwire cable, and losing all my writingphone-It's my Husband telling me cops just threatend to fine him and some of his friends $300 for skate boarding a trench. Well now he is on his way home. Have to go do the dinner thing, I'll write my computer woes later.

About Me

I am trying to write a story (novel, novella, novelette? If I finish it then I will know. One of two I started about 10 years ago. I think it is time). I hope to be a writer someday. If only buying books on topics and reading books about doing things were the same as actually doing them, I would have so much done.
updated 2011- I have written three stories (novels), two are still in rough draft form, the other I am perpetually struggling to edit and elevate.
On my blog. Bob=husband, Cheese=son, Taffy=me. These are the names we use for video game characters.
2011 *Now husband= Brian (same guy just using his real name), Plantboy= son (almost 15 years old, he is more into plants than video games. He still likes cheese, he just doesn't like being called it anymore.), and I am still daffy Taffy.